The Sons of Earendil
by LuxaLucifer
Summary: It is the Second Age, and with the exception of the Faithful, the Numenorians have become corrupt and wicked. Their Queen has fallen ill, and they go to the only healer that can save her- Elrond Half-elven, brother of their first King.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer- I don't own LOTR.

So...I'm starting a new fanfic just based off an idea I recently had. Shouldn't be too many chapters...takes place sometime around when Numenor start being dumb and thinking they were better than they were. Oh, you know what I mean.

Enjoy! :)

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Elrond stood at the back of the room, his hands stiffly folded behind him and wearing a mask of extreme placidity. Gil-galad was seated in the chair, and Elrond could see him fighting the urge to put his feet up on the table. Elrond closed his eyes briefly, hoping beyond all hope that his King would somehow suppress the urge. Valar knew how strained the relationship between the Eldar and any Númenorians, even the Faithful, was.

The messenger from Númenor was young by their standards, and he bowed deeply. His eyes flicked to Elrond, startled. Elrond did not flinch. He was used to the shocked stares of Númenorians as they looked at the mirror image of their first King.

"I am Amandil, Lord of Andúnië," he said, an introduction that was exceedingly abrupt by both races' ancient customs. Time dictated that many such meetings were cut short. "We are in dire need of your help."

"Númenor has been in dire need of help for a long while," replied Gil-galad slowly and as diplomatically as he could muster. "But it is not the help we can give."

Amandil's eyes were pleading, and Elrond tried not to see his brother's features in him. "Please, your Majesty, our Queen, she is...she is..." Amandil forced out the bitter words. "She is ill. Many fear she will die. I ask for aid, not as a forced soldier of Ar-Pharazôn, but as a loyal subject of the Queen, who respects and loves the line of Elros and the Eldar as I do."

Elrond exchanged a quick glance with Gil-galad.

"Men of the Westernesse do not succumb to sickness," replied Gil-galad warily. "Is she injured?"

Amandil sighed deeply. "She is ill, your Majesty, whether you believe it or no. I believe it is her wrongful, abominable-" Amandil cut himself off before he grew too angry. "...marriage to Ar-Pharaz ôn that has done it. None of our healers can treat it because few of our healers have ever studied medicine, only wounds. The ones that have did so out of a whim or a passing fancy. You are our last hope."

Gil-galad chose his words carefully. "We have the same dilemma, Amandil Lord of Andúnië. Our healers also practice in wound healing. I only know of one healer skilled enough to aid you, and his presence in Númenore would be...problematic."

"Who?" pleaded Amandil. "Please, I'm sure something can be worked out. Who?"

"Me," Elrond found himself saying. "I am the only healer in this kingdom with any great skill in human diseases."

Amandil's gaze turned to him and turned hopeful...and slightly fearful.

"I am Elrond son of Eärendil and brother to Elros Tar-Minyatur." he elaborated. The look on Amandil's face turned to wonder.

"So you really do exist," he breathed. "I thought at first I was imagining the similiarities, but-"

Elrond raised his hand. "There is time for this later. Now, what is ailing your Queen?"

Amandil breathlessly explained all of her symptoms, and Elrond's heart sank. This was a plague he'd encountered in the outlying lands, usually in small villages. Thankfully, it had not become widespread, but Elrond knew it had the potential to. He knew that not acting now could result in wipesread disaster. "You're right, Amandil," he replied cautiously. "There is no healer on Númenor with the skills to heal her. I am not certain I can do it."

"But...will you try?"

Elrond ignored the look on Gil-galad's face and said smoothly, "Yes, I will try."

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Reviews are love! :)


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer- I don't own it.

Sorry for the delay. Technical problems.

Enjoy! :)

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"You're sure about this?" asked Gil-galad, trying not to let a whine creep into his voice.

Elrond smiled reassuringly at him. "Yes, my liege. I-"

"Oh, hell, Elrond, do you know what you're getting yourself into?"

"My lord, calm down," soothed Elrond. "I will be fine."

"You're not even hiding yourself! I can't believe you're just planning to walk into Númenor and march right up to the palace to heal their queen. It's madness!"

"You know the consequences if I am caught. Calm yourself, my lord."

Gil-galad gritted his teeth. "I will not rest until you are back here with me."

"That comforts me, Ereinion," whispered Elrond. "It is nice to have someone worry."

Elrond bowed to his king and mounted his horse, trying not to let the pit of fear that was slowly developing in his stomach get ahold of him.

Amandil trotted up next to him, his impatience and worry showing in his eyes. "Are you sure this is the right decision? That you'll be okay?"

"We have no other choice," reiterated Elrond. "Either we make a public entrance or I get caught unlawfully administering treatment on the Queen."

"But...the brother of the King..."

"I do not think anyone has more right to say what is right for the House of Elros than me," smirked Elrond, although he didn't believe the words. He and Elros had chosen different paths. He had no right to control these men.

Amandil glanced at him. "Are you sure you believe that?"

"Ah, you seem to have caught me," sighed Elrond. "I am quite nervous at this little journey. I have not been to Númenor in long years, not since my brother died."

Amandil swallowed hard. "That was nigh on...well, a long time ago. So many men of Númenor are obsessed with immortality. Many bemoan Elros' choice and gripe about their fate, and yet it is me that's riding on a horse next to our leader's immortal twin."

"Maybe it's just my age getting to me," replied Elrond, smiling a little. "But you're sounding much younger than you are. If you really think about my long life so much, worry not, for I think we will be spending enough time together during our journey to Númenor."

Amandil nodded quickly. "Yes, of course. Sorry if I've been overbearing."

"Not at all. And don't apologize so much. You're the Lord, not me."

Amandil blushed. "Ah, yes. I suppose you're right."

Elrond couldn't help it: he suddenly slapped Amandil's horse on the ass.

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Reviews are love! :)


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer- I don't own it.

I finally updated! :3

Enjoy!

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Elrond held his head high, uncomfortable for a multitude of reasons. Not least were the heavy formal robes he was wearing or the ornate circlet he was unaccustomed to. He hated the way that the men and women of Númenor stared at him as his horse slowly strolled along the main road. Shop-owners peeked out of their windows and passerby in the street unabashedly stared at Elrond and Amandil. After a long debate with Gil-galad, he'd finally won permission to go alone with Amandil. Now he was second-guessing this idea.

Elrond wished that Númenor wasn't quite so...cold. The building were beautiful and gorgeous beyond belief, but empty and desolate. Elrond felt unwelcome, a hostile presence. He felt as though his coming brought a chill sea wind that he ever felt at his back.

It was some time before they reached their destination, and Elrond was just happy that he could get away from the prying stares. In the old days Elves often visited Númenor, but this wasn't the old days, and Elrond was clearly not welcome here.

He took a deep breath as he stood in front of the huge stone doors that marked the entrance to the main palace. The herald asked who they were and what their business was, and Elrond replied, loud enough to be heard by all inquiring ears,

"I am Elrond Half-elven, son of Eärendil, brother to Elros Tar-Minyatur, first High King of Númenor, Herald to Gil-galad, although I come on other business."

The herald was beyond startled. "O-Oh? And what is that?"

"I have prowess as a healer," replied Elrond figuring that now was not the time for diplomacy. "And I heard that I am needed."

"So you came all the way here?" questioned the herald suspiciously.

"From one herald to another, it is not your duty to interrogate me, only to report on my words," replied Elrond smoothly. The herald scurried away and Amandil smirked.

"Wow, you're good at this," he whispered, sounding happy for the first time since they'd landed on Númenor. Elrond smiled graciously in reply instead of bantering like normal. He must keep up appearances.

They were quickly ushered into the main hall. The splendor of the halls of the palace was indeed beyond compare, and yet Elrond was wistful for Gil-galad's more comfortable approach in regards to decor.

They stopped in front of a large white throne with shoddily carved images of the current King of Númenor.

Who was standing in front of them.

Elrond's stomach plunged, and he reminded himself that he was heir to five lines and that this great King was indeed descended from Elros, indeed, his silly, carefree Elros. His Elros no longer existed- only these stones statues of the hard-faced first King did.

Elrond gave a short bow, one he had confirmed with Ereinion that would be appropriate for his status as Elros' brother. The king looked startled and offended, and was probably preparing to have him beaten or executed when his herald announced who Elrond was.

Elrond had to admit that he took a base pleasure in seeing the shocked look on the King's face. The proper protocol would have been for the King to deliver to Elrond a short bow, but he did no such thing. He drew himself up proudly.

"What business does an _Elf_ who chose immortality have in the mortal Númenor?" he asked haughtily.

Elrond had expected this. From what Amandil had said, the King had grown jealous of immortality and Elves and was openly hostile to them. Elrond, the polar opposite of Elros, had probably earned the greatest portion of jealously from the King.

"I do not come to Númenor as one of the Eldar, your majesty," stated Elrond. "Rather, I am here as the brother of your first sire. I have heard that your Queen is ill. I know much in the way of healing and thought it would be prudent for me to ask permission to assist." Elrond suddenly thought of what Gil-galad's method would have been and heaved a sigh of relief that his liege lord had not come. Ereinion was many things, but diplomatic wasn't one of them.

The King glared at Amandil, who shrunk before his gaze. "And how did you come by this knowledge?"

"Would you like your Queen to live?" challenged Elrond. "Or would you rather she die and leave you alone in your hate?"

Amandil winced, and Elrond's smile became grim. He couldn't let Amandil be accused of treason, although he had a feeling what the consequences for himself would be.

The King snorted. "And you claim to be able to heal her, an Elf who knows no sickness or pain?"

"I cannot claim to know sickness, your majesty, but there is no child of Illúvatar who does not know pain."

"You speak that name to me?" growled the King. "Impertinent, aren't you? You may be the brother of a king, but you have no kingdom. If I let a servant such as yourself to see my greatest treasure, than I shall make sure that you are watched. If you harm her or fail to heal her, I will have you killed and your body throw in the street like the scum I suspect you are."

Elrond closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring. He could feel a tic working in his cheek. A servant? Scum? High words from an incestuous prick who married into the crown.

He opened his coal gray eyes and managed, "As you wish, my lord."

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And the King is a dick.

Reviews are love! :3


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer- I don't own LOTR.

Finally, right? *is very lazy*

Enjoy!

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Elrond and Amandil were quickly separated on the condition that Amandil was not injured or disgraced in any way. This left Elrond alone and vulnerable- he was disarmed and, to his utter indignation, had his arms chained as he was led to the Queen's chambers.

He suffered the humiliation in stony-faced silence. He was going to do the task he came here for, even if he was beginning to bitterly regret it. The King himself was leading this proceeding, and Elrond would have been interested to notice that the Queen's chambers weren't in the main palace if it hadn't meant that he was led through the main streets in this fashion. He was sure the tick in his cheek was getting worse.

It was getting busy in the streets, and the King was probably thrilled to be leading an Elf in chains down the the main thoroughfare where everyone could see him. People saw him and averted their eyes, as if he were a new poison instead of a healer who could save their Queen.

It was only a short walk to where the Queen was being taken care of. When they entered her room, Elrond asked for his bonds to be removed. His tone, while clipped, was surprisingly polite considering how unbelievably angry he was.

"And why should I do that?" asked the King arrogantly. "I don't want you hurting my bride."

"Or helping her, apparently," replied Elrond, working his jaw in an attempt to keep his cool. "Do you really expect me to work with my hands chained together? This is a grave breach of trust between our nations."

Míriel groaned, her forehead sweaty and her cheeks pale, and the King's gaze flicked to her for a second. He wavered, and ordered for Elrond's bonds to be cut.

Elrond had to resist crossing his arms immediantly. This was like trying to be diplomatic to a bear. He knelt next to the Queen's bed and whispered, "Hello, your majesty. I've come to help. I know you must be in pain, but I'm going to help take that away if that's okay with you."

"What are you saying?" growled the King. "What lies are you poisoning her with?"

"I am comforting her, your majesty," said Elrond dryly. "You might try it sometime."

Ar-Pharazôn grabbed Elrond by the shoulder's and shook him violently, causing Elrond to stumble. "If you cause her _any _harm, I shall have you hung and displayed in front of my people to see what the traitorous Elves do when given the chance."

"You have already made that clear," managed Elrond, waiting for the King to release him. When he did, Elrond bent back over the bed, completely ignoring the harsh pain he now felt in his shoulders. He knew the bruises that would soon form would be severe, but he chose to ignore them for now.

"Míriel," said Elrond gently. "Can you hear me?"

He repeated the question, and she nodded sleepily.

"Good. Do you know who I am?"

Elrond heard an audible huff from the King, but chose to ignore it.

She mumbled something, and Elrond leaned in closer to hear.

"You must be an Elf," he managed to make out.

He slipped the gown down her shoulders and felt a cold blade press against the small of his back. What a surprise, the King was threatening him again. He ignored it and looked back at the suffering woman.

He winced when he sat the swelling on her neck. Fear coiled in his stomach, and he lifted up the hem of her gown to see more boils on her pale legs. The blade pressed ever more tightly against his back, and he snapped.

"Look, _your majesty_," he growled. "I am not here to ravish the innocence of your stolen Queen. I am here to help her. If it puts your mind at rest, I am not overly fond of woman to begin with, Elvish _or_ human, so please, let me work!"

His cheeks burning with his indirect admission, Elrond braced himself for the inevitable scorn. Maybe the King would even send the herald back to Lindon, claiming he sullied the soil of Númenor.

To his surprise, the pressure of the blade lessoned. He heard a sigh of relief. "If I believe one thing about Elves, it's that you are honest, at least in the matters of your bedroom. To know that you will not watch her with eyes of lust as a man would is comforting to me. I take my leave."

And he did, leaving Elrond slightly bewildered. He pushed his confusion aside and set to work on the young woman with the boils on her neck and legs.

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So, I was really really trying to keep slash and such out of this fanfiction, but something was lacking, and I felt that rthe stakes needed to be higher. So as a political move, I've made Elrond gay. Would is be homosexual? He's not human...

Also, they will probably not be a pairing between him and anyone, if you were worried.

If you don't like this turn of events, I'm sorry if I've offended you, but that's the way the story's going.

Reviews are love!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer- I don't own it.

I know, a prompt chapter! Whatever can be wrong? I had it written already, actually. Thanks for your reviews! *is tired and not making sense*

Enjoy! :)

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"Can you get me a scarf?" asked Elrond suddenly. "This is a lady's room, right?"

The King smirked. "What do you need a scarf for? Planning on dressing up?"

"No. I have diagnosed your wife, and I have come to a conclusion. She is very sick and extremely contagious. I would like to cover my mouth in order to prevent what sickness I can from spreading. As an Elf, I am hardly susceptible to it, but, as a Númenorian, neither should she be. So, a scarf please."

The King mutely handed him a scarf, and Elrond's face burned when he saw the King's aversion to touching him. He'd have to anwser for his admission later.

Once he had the scarf tied around his face, he ordered, his voice slightly muffled, for the King to leave.

The King's complexion immediantly became splotched red with rage. "You _order_ me to do _what?_ Leave you alone with her?"

"She became sick, your majesty, and Númenorians do not _become _sick! You may think you're above this disease because you're a King, but the honest truth is that you're far more likely to get it than I am, yes, even me, a queer. There, I said it! Now, _please_, find every man and woman who attended to her or saw her while she was ill and quarantine them before this sickness spreads. If I'm right, then they will all be sick within the next twenty-four hours, and I'll have twenty more patients!"

Elrond must have still have some vestige of his lordly grace, even with a scarf wrapped around his mouth, because the King nodded sharply and left the room without another word.

"High fever, rapid pulse..." Elrond put all thoughts of the totalitarian king out of his mind and concentrated on his patient. "Míriel, I am sorry to wake you darling, but please, I need you to tell me something."

It took three tries before Elrond got her attention, and she smiled weakly at him. "Elf..." she croaked. "You're here to help?"

"Yes, yes, young one, I am. Tell me, does your head hurt?"

She nodded meekly. "It hurts...my head hurts and my body hurts and, oh, it _hurts_..."

"Yes, I know, and I'm here to help. Can you move, or are you too weak?"

She struggled to sit up and ultimately failed. Elrond watched this with troubled eyes.

"Listen to me. You're very sick, but I'm going to do my best to save you."

He wasn't sure if she could hear him, so, against his better judgement, he kissed her forehead through the scarf as he rose.

Her forehead was scorching hot, and the heat stayed on his lips.

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I know, this chapter sucks butt, but what can I do? I promise, the next one will be better! Reviews are love!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer- I don't own it.

No reviews? Jerkfaces. XD

Enjoy! :)

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It had been a long day. Elrond had spent the last twenty hours or so sitting by Míriel's bedside, watching for changes in her condition. If anything, her fever had gone up, and Elrond had begun to worry a little for his safety. He had treated this illness before, but not when the patient was this far gone. He closed his eyes and imagined that he was back in Ereinion's court, sitting by his side as he had for thousands of years now.

When he opened his eyes he was still looking at the dark wall of the closet he was to sleep him. He'd watched with disdain as the KIng and two of the men who'd already been contaminated drag all of the Queen's possessions out of it, dumping a batch of straw in there to sleep on. It was the King's reply for Elrond asking to have a room close to the Queen.

He was too tired to care. He laid back on the straw, ignoring how it poked at his back. He was actually a good way into his plan for healing her when there came a knock on the door.

He opened it, excepting to see a King ready to taunt him. Instead Amandil stood there, his face pale in the light of the lantern.

Elrond frowned. "Amandil, you're not supposed to be here. You'll be contaminated."

Amandil shrugged. "I guess it's a little late to be worrying about that," he grinned. "I have faith that you're heal me."

Amandil glanced behind Elrond, seeing the small, dark closet and the pile of hay. "Did he really stick you in Míriel's closet? He was bragging about it during dinner."

Elrond tried not to think about his dinner-or lack thereof.

"I think you can see the anwser yourself," he said cooly. More cooly than he'd intended, apparently, because Amandil flushed red.

"I brought you a blanket," he said. "And something to eat."

Elrond smiled. Kindness in this country seemed to be very hard to come by.

"Come in, young one. There's room enough for two. It's a big closet."

Elrond spread the thick blanket over the hay and they sat on it, not speaking. It was hard to see one another in the faint light of their two lanterns.

"The King, he was..." Amandil glanced at Elrond rather quickly, and Elrond had a sinking feeling that he knew what he was going to say. "He was bragging...he said that the noble brother of Elros was a...a..."

"A queer?" finished Elrond, sticking his fork in the potatoes Amandil had brought him rather sharply.

"So it's true?" blurted Amandil, as though his mouth was moving faster than his brain.

Elrond swallowed hard. "I'm afraid so."

The silence was heavy around them, and Elrond had difficultly swallowing around the lump in his throat.

"Be careful, Lord Elrond."

Elrond looked up in surprise. "Yes?"

"Being an Elf in Númenor is bad enough," whispered Amandil. "But being a queer is even worse. I...I don't think I would have brought you here if I had known. Ar-Pharazôn...he...he _brands_ those he suspects to be queer. Elrond, I fear for you."

Elrond's voice contained courage he didn't feel. "I came here to heal the Queen, Amandil, and by the Valar, I'm going to do it. I will take care of myself, young one, don't you worry."

"Are all Elves this brave, or is it just you?" said Amandil, sounding more confident.

"I wouldn't know. I am not all an Elf, after all. Maybe trueborn Elves are even braver."

Amandil clasped his hand, and Elrond wondered if all Númenorian grandfathers were this emotional. "Promise me you'll be okay, Elrond. Please."

Elrond shook his head. "I don't make promises," This was true. He hadn't even promised Ar-Pharazôn he could heal Míriel. "I'll be fine without or without your promise."

Amandil looked heartened. "Why don't you make promises?"

Elrond laughed, hiding the sudden stab of pain the question had caused him. "It's a family thing."

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Reviews are love!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer- I don't own LOTR

Why is it always anonymous people who say the stupid things? *sigh* I'll address thjis to everyone, I suppose. I am aware that Elrond married Celebrian and they have Arwen and the twins. IN the context of this story, his marriage to her is borner out of the recent loss of his closest companion, a strong sense of loneliness, a great affection, if not passionate love, for Celebrian, and the desire for children. Their relationship was a good, if never wild, one. so there.

Enjoy! :)

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"Another one has fallen ill, my lord."

Elrond ignored this and concentrated, heedless of the beat of sweat the dripped off his nose. He was administering Míriel's first treatment, concentrating all of his skill into drawing out the toxic blood in her body. He was not a pretty sight, sweat running in rivulets down his face and veins threatening to pop out on his forehead. He slowly extracted the next piece of toxin from Míriel's contaminated bloodstream and collapsed against the wall. His healing was a mixture between medical technique and Elvish skill, leaning on medicine.

That's why this healing was taking such a toll on him; he was using far more of his Elvish heritage than he was used to for Míriel, and he was slightly out of practice. Rarely did he have a need for it at Gil-galad's court. It took all the energy out of him, and after he was done with Míriel's treatment he had to mix poultices for the other six (now seven) humans who had fallen ill. Three of them were Míriel's handmaidens, two of them were maids, and one of them was a member of the King's own guard.

"Who is it now?" Elrond asked tiredly, fixing his gaze on the guard standing by the door. He was one of the kinder guards, calling Elrond 'my lord' and bowing whenever he approached. He suspected that he was one of Amandil's friends, especially considering the other guards spat his feet or jeered at him as he walked by. Not that he was going much of anywhere, with him and the other quarantined humans shut in Míriel's wing.

"A member of the King's council," replied the guard, frowning deeply.

"Is the King still refusing to be quarantined?" asked Elrond, leaning against the wall as he tried to catch his breath.

The guard let out a noise that could have been a very stifled sigh. "Yes. He claims that his royal blood prevents him being contaminated by mortal diseases."

"Even as his Queen, who shares his pure blood, lies here ill," finished Elrond. "Of course."

He let the guard lead him to the room, only a few feet down the corridor, where he mixed the poultices that would hopefully cure all the new patients. When Elrond looked at them all he saw was another sleepless night. Would this nightmare ever end?

He had only just started on his work when another guard, one Elrond recognized as one of his most frequent spitters, arrived.

"Lord Elrond Half-elven, son of Eärendil, brother to Elros Tar-Minyatur, first High King of Númenor, Herald to Gil-galad, is summoned to the dining hall for a feast."

Elrond kept his mouth from dropping open, but barely. Was the King _mad? _

"You realize that I have had the most contact with these highly contagious patients more than anyone here? If you bring me into that hall you run the risk of contaminating everyone there."

Elrond though he saw a glimpse of a sharp smile from under his smile when the guard reached out and grabbed Elrond by the arm. Elrond wrenched it away from him and fixed him with his strongest don't-you-dare look, usually reserved for when Ereinion was being bitchy.

"It was a direct order from the King. If this ailment is as deadly as you _believe_ it is, which I highly doubt, then refuse a direct order from the King of Númenor."

"The King of Númenore is not _my_ King," hissed Elrond, standing firm where he was. "I will not answer to his call like a preening girl, throwing aside duty and responsibility for a night that would surely result in my humiliation anyways."

The guard nodded sharply. "So be it. You face the wrath of the King now."

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This has gotten really enjoyable to write. Reviews are love! :)


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer- I don't own LOTR.

Enjoy! :)

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Elrond was busy dribbling small portions of antidote down his patients' throats when the King stormed in, retainers trailing after him timidly. From the looks on their faces Elrond knew this wasn't going to be pretty.

"You don't attend my feast," roared Ar-Pharazôn. "You ignore my personal summons, insult my generosity, and now I find you neglecting your duties to my lady Queen! If you were a citizen of this country, _Elf_, I would have your head on a pike!"

He knocked the antidote out of Elrond's hand and picked Elrond up by the collar. Elrond was relieved to see that the antidote did not break on the floor and only spilled a little. It took everything in Elrond not to hit the bastard in the mouth, but if three thousand years of diplomacy had taught him anything it was that no matter how violent the other party got, you did not retaliate.

Elrond didn't expect Ar-Pharazôn to actually hit him. He was surprised then, when Ar-Pharazôn hit him across the face with his meaty fist, causing Elrond to hit the floor hard. Elrond suppressed a groan and struggled to his feet. The guards and retainers in the room were watching with baited breath, the retainers huddled close together, as though there would be safety in numbers.

Ar-Pharazôn grabbed Elrond's chin roughly and forced his face an inch away from Elrond's. His breath was wet and rancid, but Elrond did not flinch.

"Next time," he growled. "You will _obey_ my orders."

"Not if it endangers my patients. Which, if you've noticed, was in the plural. I was not sitting idle, _your majesty, _I am helping your people. do not have to obey your orders because I am not one of your subjects. I am under King Gil-galad's rule."

Ar-Pharazôn hit Elrond across the face with such force that he stumbled backward into the stone wall. The irate King cornered him there, and Elrond closed his eyes. Whatever this crazy King planned on doing, Elrond could deal with it. He was older and wiser than this crazy human, and in a few hundred years Elrond would be alive and the King would not.

Maybe the King had this thought too, because the King left Elrond against the wall, walking over the the fire and reaching for the fire poker. He walked back, his face deformed in a vicious snarl.

"You think I'm going to take this _shit_ from an Elf? Especially an Elf like _you_?" growled Ar-Pharazôn. "You think I'm going to stand here and listen to poisonous words seep from that cesspool mouth of yours, you goddamn queer? That giant pushover Gil-galad may let a freak of nature like you tell him what to do, but in my country, _I_ am King."

He swung the red-hot poker at Elrond, aiming for his face. Elrond instinctively raised his hands to block it and grabbed the poker when Ar-Pharazôn swung it at him. He almost screamed from the pain, the intense, burning, _terrible_, pain, but managed to hold it in long enough to grab the poker, wrench it from the King's hands, and fling it on the ground. He stood tall, over seven feet tall, as almost all First Age Elves were, and said, quietly but with equal ferocity, "I want you to leave me to work on these patients, _your majesty_. If you have any problems with me, please wait until I have finished treating all of my patients, including your Queen. Then I shall go home and we shall all be happier."

Ar-Pharazôn spat at Elrond's feet and left the room, his boots breaking the finish on the smooth floors. His tittering retinue of retainers followed him.

Once they were gone, Elrond let out a low moan and collapsed to the floor. Two of the guards rushed to help him, supporting him to a chair. One of the few healthy handmaidens left, who had been helping with the piatinets nad had been there during the whole scene, dabbed at the blood on Elrond's face. The entire left side of his face was gonig to be badly swollen in a few hours, but that wasn't what Elrond was worried about.

He forced his clenched hands open and stared with horror at the awful burns. They were far worse then he'd thought. Burned flesh hung off his hands in strips and Elrond could see the white of bones grinding when he moved his hand. He'd grabbed the poker both out of instinct and because he was vain enough that he didn't want the brand of Ar-Pharazôn on his face for a few thousand years. He tried to move all of his fingers and realized that they were numb. He could treat this, but how? He couldn't treat himself without his hands!

Elrond choked back a sob. He felt numb, as though his encounter with the King had stripped him of all emotion. He vaguely recognized that the handmaiden was cleaning and bandaging his burns.

"My hands," he whispered. "My hands. How am I supposed to heal if I can't use my hands?"

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	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer- I don't own LOTR. Neither does Peter Jackson, but don't tell HIM that.

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"Yes, mix that herb," directed Elrond, watching the handmaiden closely. Her name was Elenwë; Elrond found it both amusing and sad that such vestiges of the Númenorians' Elvish heritage still remained, despite their trying so hard to hide it.

She smiled at Elrond nervously, following his directions to the letter. He nodded towards another herb, avoiding the use of his heavily bandaged hands. They felt like clubs, heavy and useless. It was no hard feat to direct another to mix the antidotes for the less seriously ill patients. The biggest problem was that Míriel was still seriously ill and needed more hands-on treatment from the only experienced healer there, _him._

When the poultices were done, Elrond oversaw Elenwë administer them to each of the patients. They were making significant progress, and he was hopeful that the first ones would be completely recovered in two or three days. Already they were conscious and talkative. He had gotten a few personal thanks and one angry guard that was furious with being treated by an Elf.

He stood up and swayed a little, and Elenwë latched on to his arm. He desperately hoped his hands weren't getting infected.

"Elenwë...do you think you could help me back to my room?" he managed. "I need an hour's rest. Wake me then so I may continue the Queen's treatment."

She gnawed on her lip. "Only that long? My Lord, are you sure? I could watch over the patients for several hours, if you wish."

"No, no. I dare not think what your King should do if he finds me skulking about, sleeping off my injuries. An hour is all I need."

Being a diplomat meant being a practiced liar, and he was altogether sorry when Elenwë woke him an hour later. He faked a smile, forced himself off the straw that served as a pitiful bed and made his way to Míriel.

When he saw her, he was surprised to see that she was alert. She smiled at him sleepily.

"Are you the one treating me?" she said groggily.

Elrond nodded and sat by her side, pulling up an uncomfortable three-legged stool that he had recently become all too familiar with.

"You're pretty," she murmured. "I knew Elves were pretty, but you're very pretty. And not altogether Elvish."

Elrond laughed sheepishly. "Maybe you should think about yourself rather than my prettiness."

"I wish a pretty Elf would sweep me off my feet and kidnap me to live on Middle-earth," she said wistfully.

"You'll have to find a different pretty Elf, I'm afraid. I am Elrond, your majesty, and I'm here to make you feel better."

_"The_ Elrond?"

"Yes, _the_ Elrond," he replied tiredly. He often wished now that his name was so synonymous with...whatever it was that made people recognize his name. Whatever it was that made his life difficult. He wasn't going to blame Elros for spawning these miserable people, so he'd find something else to blame.

"I don't hurt as bad...did you do that?"

"Yes, your majesty. I have been drawing our the sickness in your veins while treating you with the antidote that I have been giving to the other patients."

"Have you been drawing out their sickness too?"

He shook his head and watched his sleepy eyes widen with unhappiness. "I hope my..._husband_...didn't order you not to help them. Give them the same treatment I get!"

"You misunderstand me, your majesty. Their sickness if not as advanced as yours is. If all goes well, it never will be."

She relaxed back into her pillow, her wispy brown hair settling around her heard like a wreath.

She glanced at him. "Are _you_ okay, Master Elf?"

"Ah, well, you should worry about yourself. However, I think I am going to have to come up with an alternative way to heal you."

He lifted his hands slightly, and felt guilty when her face flushed with color.

"Now, your majesty, do not upset yourself. You need your rest."

"Who hurt my pretty healer Elf?" she pouted, and Elrond remembered why he did not like mortal rulers. Possessive, greedy people.

He didn't answer, bowing his head. He was heading back to his closet when he head her voice behind him.

"This was my husband's doing, wasn't it?"

He turned back to her and drew the sheets back up on her, kissing her forehead. "I fear we have both been wronged by him, my lady."

From the sound of it, she fell asleep quickly. He did not.

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	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer- I don't own it.

Enjoy! :)

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"This is going to look really dumb," sighed Elrond. Amandil, who was still in perfect health (and loving it), slapped him on the back cheerfully.

"As long you get the job done, right?"

After several hours of deep thinking, Elrond had finally come up with a solution. Not one that he was comfortable with, but a solution nonetheless. Hands were usually the best conductor of the fickle energy that humans called...sorcery? Magic? Hands were the most used body part on any person, and one of the most sensitive. After deep thought, Elrond had figured that the next best thing would be his forehead, where the source of his brainpower was- that or the heart, but he didn't think the King would appreciate him touching chests with his wife.

Elrond looked at his his bands and willed the thin fingers poking out to _move_, dammit, make it so he didn't have to perform this undignifying procedure. He sighed and lowered them to hide side as he knelt to the level of the Queen, who was laying back on her bed, awake but quiet.

"Are you ready, your Majesty?"

'Always, Master Elrond. I trust my pretty Elf," she said sleepily.

He turned her to her side so that his face was mere inches away from hers and pressed their foreheads together, channeling his healing energy into her. It was an abstract, difficult process for him, trying to draw out the poison without operating, which he rarely felt comfortable doing. He doubted that the King would be pleased by the mere suggestions, as Men still generally knew nothing about such things. Still, it was unfair to call them ignorant- as far as Elrond knew, he was the only Elf who'd learned how to operate.

When he stood up, he was feeling dizzy enough that he had to lean against the wall to catch his breath.

"How do you feel, my lady?" asked Amandil eagerly.

Míriel sat up, watching as the pustules on her arms rapidly shrunk until they were half the size they had been. A few completely vanished, and she shrieked with joy.

Elrond smiled weakly just as three guards burst into the room held Elrond against the wall.

"You're under arrest for murder and treason against Númenor," growled one of the guards.

"What's going on?" asked Míriel, going from elated to terrified in a matter of seconds.

"One of your handmaidens died. Under the criteria the Elf entered Númenor on, he is sentenced to death."

"That isn't true!" said Elrond, outraged. "The agreement was that I died if Míriel died. Does she looked dead to you?"

The guard's didn't release their grip, but they exchanged glances.

Amandil looked as though he were about to draw his sword. "I can vouch for that! That was the deal!"

"I am an Elf-lord of Lindon, and you have no authority over me," said Elrond calmly, his voice quiet but immensely powerful. "However, I do not wish to put you in any trouble. You are only following orders. I do beg you to remember than there are two dozen patients who need my care in order to live."

"Like the wrench lived?" snarled a guard, and Elrond realized that the King must have gone out of his way to find hostile guards. His last sight as they hauled him off was not Míriel's pale face and gaping mouth, but Amandil's furious eyes.

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	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer- I am not Tolkien.

I didn't know where this story was going, so I finished it up in one night and was vaguely satisfied with it. Just a few more chapters!

Enjoy! :)

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The King paced outside Elrond's cell for at least twenty minutes before he deigned to come in. Elrond himself was sitting very still on the dirty bench inside, his eyes close, clearing his mind of all thoughts. If he could only release himself from all emotions, he could keep a pretense of calm.

That process ended the moment the cell door unlocked.

Elrond's eyes shot open, and his steely gray eyes met with Ar-Pharazôn's nearly black ones.

"You think I will spare your life, faggot?" growled the King. His body was tense with barely-concealed rage.

Elrond closed his eyes again. He did not open them when he said, "Yes."

"And why do you think that?"

"If you kill me, there will be an international incident."

"Do you think that I care?"

"If you are a good King, then you care. If you are a good King, then you will let me live, not because it will cause an international incident, but because without me, your citizens and your Queen will die."

The King growled so fierce that it was almost feral. "You fight with words, not weapons, and you have mastered it, freak. You will continue to treat your patients, but know that once you are done I will decide your fate."

Elrond did not like his life hanging on the whims of a mad king, but if he escaped from Númenor now, the relationship between their two countries would be irreparably damaged. That was the only reason he didn't break the arms of the guards, steal their swords, and get the hell out of the awful country.

Shortly after that, Elrond was sent back to his patients, most of whom were sleeping peacefully, their boils clearing up. Any sane man could see that they were improving. It was unfortunate that the King wasn't sane. When he checked on Míriel, she sobbed and cried and hugged him and thanked Illúvatar for her pretty Elf's safe return, which warmed Elrond's heart considerably.

Amandil stormed into the room while Elrond was still stroking the Queen's hair (she hadn't let go in some time and didn't seem about to), fists clenched.

"We have to do something about this," growled Amandil. "He can't keep locking you up whenever he feels like it!"

"I am inclined to agree, but I don't see what we can do."

Míriel nodded her tearful agreement. "I would have been ruling Queen if he hadn't forced me into marriage."

Elrond knew this, but hearing it come from her own lips made it more painful to think about. It must have been terrible for this young woman to be forced into marriage to her first cousin and stand back to watch him make a mess of her country, not to mention a life-threatening disease on top of that. He fiddled with one of the bandages on his hands as he decided what to say.

"I can't do anything about that, your majesty, but I can heal you of all your outward pains. I think you need only a week or two and you will be healed."

She smiled widely. "Really?"

He laughed in reply. "Really."

Amandil worried his lip. "I still want to do something about the King. He can't continue to treat you this badly."

"Amandil," said Elrond sharply. "When you asked me to come help Míriel, we both knew that it would not be a pleasant experience. My time here is nearly done, and I will soon be able to return to E-to Lindon and Imladris and my life. As for you, Amandil, I cannot see there being much left here, but it is the land of your birth and your allegiance. However, if you ever find the need to leave, we would welcome you in Lindon."

Amandil smiled briefly before his face sunk back into thought. "Thank you, Elrond. That means a lot to me. I may have to take you up on that offer..."

"Then who would protect _me?_" whined Míriel. "You can't leave me here all alone with that brute!"

"That offer applies to you too," said Elrond quietly, knowing that those words were considered treason. "If you ever saw fit to take me up on it."

And grinned and laughed and teased and, for all appearances, looked as though she would do just that and leave this wretched island forever, but Elrond could see a steely look in her eyes that she shared with a Amandil, a look that said they would never abandon the place where their heart lived, Númenor.

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	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer- I don't own it.

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"There," said Elrond pleasantly, grasping the hand of his last patient in a goodbye. "It seems that you're the last."

The newly-healed guard nodded sharply at Elrond and didn't say anything, only smiling in return.

When he had gone, Elrond turned to Elenwë, the most faithful of his helpers and said, "I don't know how you will take this compliment, as I don't know your personal opinions on me, but know that you would have made an excellent healer. It is not too late, either, if you ever tire of being a handmaiden."

"But who would teach me?" she asked quietly. "I am, after all, only a handmaiden, and a woman at that."

"You have extraordinary skill," said Elrond, flexing his newly unbandaged fingers. "If it weren't for you, I would have lost the full use of my hands. If you so wish, I could take you back to Lindon with me to train in the healing arts. I warn you, however- it is likely you will not be able to come back."

"There is nothing for me here," she breathed. "This is more than I could have ever hoped for. When do you leave?"

"In four days. Can you be ready by then?"

"I could be ready by tomorrow," she said shakily, grasping his arms in her excitement. "Thank you, my Lord, thank you!"

After arranging a few more things, Elrond left the room to go check up on Míriel. The Queen was out of bed, absently scratching at one of her last boils and looking as though she were having a losing battle with needlepoint.

"My pretty Elf!" she yelled shrilly. "I thought I might not see you again, Amandil said you were done with the other patients!"

Elrond kissed her hand and smiled warmly. "Yes, I'm here. To say goodbye, though, I'm sad to say. Amandil and I will be finishing up the ship preparations and then heading out."

She hugged him fiercely, and he awkwardly patted her back in reply. This woman and her hugs. His brother had also had an affinity for them that he didn't quite understand. All that touching was sure to spread dirt, after all.

Míriel touched his face in wonder. "A real Elf," she said in wonder. "I can still hardly believe it. What about...what about my husband?"

Elrond felt a twinge of apprehension in his stomach at his fated last meeting with the King but said, "No worry. I have healed you and fulfilled my promise. There is nothing he can do." If he followed the law and the basic code of morality, which he may very well not.

She brought him in for one last lingering hug and said, very quietly, "Thank you, Elrond for saving me. My life is a little happier now, and its all thanks to you."

"I am glad I could be of some help."

"More than a little. I will never forget you, not as long as I live."

Elrond smiled. "And I you, and from me that means a great deal."

He kissed her again, on the forehead this time, and bowed slightly as he left. He was surprised when she stood up and bowed deeply. Not curtsied, but _bowed_. When she rose she looked every inch the Queen on Númenor she was.

"Goodbye, Lord Elrond," she said.

"Goodbye, Queen Míriel," he replied, shutting the door as he left. He never saw her again. He never forgot her either.

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	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer- I don't own it.

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Elrond ran his thumb over the thick scar tissue on his palm, trying not to think about how a mad king could sentence him to death in the next ten minutes or so. Deciding not to keep pushing the though away, Elrond tried to imagine what dying would be like. He rarely did. There had been no wars in Lindon in many, many years, not since he had founded Imladris.

He decided that it didn't really matter. Elves, when dead, just had to wait for a bit in the Halls of Mandos. Maybe he'd even get to talk to some of his old family, the ones who have to wait a while lot longer than Elrond would to get re-embodied. He smiled wistfully, thinking of his earliest memories with those he had called parents.

He was still thinking of flashes of red and silver harps when he was called into the great hall of the palace. He strode in there, his heart strengthened by memories of the First Age, and met Ar-Pharazôn's gaze head-on.

"I have met your demands, your majesty," he said boldly. "I have healed your Queen. I have earned the right to return home."

The King had obviously been eating only minutes before, as he still had a dribble of grease smeared across his chin. Elrond struggled not to look away from revulsion.

"You let a woman die," growled the King. "That was not part of the agreement."

"She died of unforeseen complications," replied Elrond calmly. "One out of almost one hundred is an average you will be hard-pressed to beat, either in Númenore _or_ Middle-earth." Or Valinor, Elrond thought, but saying that would just be plain immodest.

"If you're so good, why don't I just keep you here? You can be the court physician," sneered the King, and Elrond felt a stab of horror at those words. He couldn't imagine a worse position, being locked in the King's court, forced to wait on lords and ladies who would giggle and gossip about his sexuality the moment his back was turned, the King forever blocking his movements and threatening him.

"Do you really wish to keep me here, no matter my skills? I have not gathered the impression that you particularly like me, your majesty."

The King worked his jaw for a few moments before saying, "Yes, you're right. I absolutely detest you, and seeing your miserable face around here would be tantamount to arsenic poisoning, slow but sure."

Well, that was just rude.

"No," he continued. "I think killing you is the best option."

Elrond did not reply, only training his gray eyes on Ar-Pharazôn.

"Well," snarled the King, hating the silence. "What do you have to say that? I'm going to chop your head off, and you just stand there!"

"I think," said Elrond, choosing his words carefully. "That the High King of the Noldor would be most displeased."

This turned out to be the wrong thing to say.

"I answer to no King!" roared Ar-Pharazôn. "I answer to no one, not Illúvatar, not _anyone_!"

Elrond took a deep breath and stood his ground. "You are not going to kill me," he stated.

"I'd like to see you try to stop me!"

So Elrond did.

Elrond let every once of Elvish magic free at once, the old Noldorian power mixing with the weaker Sindarian with the Telerian and the Vanyarian weaving their way in, all accentuated by the deeper, stronger, power of Melian the Maia, the strength on nearly every Elvish and human king and queen all channeled into one living Elf bursting out of him, bright light searing the eyes of everyone in the room.

"You are not going to kill me."

Black hair flying in the wind that had picked up around him, Elrond lifted his hand and pointed at the mad King. "I am letting you off easy. I should walk up to you and slit your throat, but I am too good of a healer to let myself do that, you evil pig."

The King turned a mottled shade of puce when Elrond said this, but he didn't dare say anything.

"You may be a descendent of Kings, but I am the stronger, more powerful, less corruptible version of you. I am what you once were. I dare not think what Elros would have thought of this pitiful race for fear of what he would have thought."

Elrond took a few steps away, his skin blazing white light as bright as broad daylight, and added, "Take care of your Queen. She deserves it."

Elrond glowed all the way back to the harbor, the palace guards giving him no trouble, and he decided that he liked the awestruck stares a lot better than the ones he had entered Númenor with. He supposed he must have made an impression after all.

When he reached the boat, Amandil and Elenwë were standing anxiously, waiting for him. He could tell the moment they saw him, because their mouths fell open.

"Can all Elves do this?" asked Elenwë, a look of shock masking her features.

"This?"

"G-Glow."

"More or less."

Amandil, displaying more balls than the entire high Númenorian court, clapped Elrond on the shoulder and said, "You really know how to make an exit, don't you?"

As the three of them boarded the ship, Elrond couldn't stop smiling.

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	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer- I don't own anything Tolkien, I promise.

This is it, the last chapter! I'd like to thank all of the people who've read and (hopefully) enjoyed this, especially those of you who left reviews! It's been a fun fanfic to write, and I hope you like the last chapter!

Also, just warning you, it gets slashy at the end. Up until now, Elrond's homosexuality was to further the plot, but it changes a bit in this chapter. Just a warning!

Enjoy! :)

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"Elrond, let me just say that I am very glad that I met you."

"Yes?"

Amandil blushed slightly. "You're the first Elf I ever got to know. Probably the only one. And, well, I like you. You've been a good friend to me."

"You're been a good friend to me, Amandil, and the only solace I found in many of those horrible days. I thank the Valar for allowing us to meet."

"The same goes for me."

Elrond and Amandil clapped each other on the shoulder (Elrond felt rather manly) and they both knew that for all intensive purposes they had said goodbye.

They had finished their ship journey and now Elrond, Amandil and Elenwë were riding by horseback back to Lindon's capital, which Elrond could hardly wait to see. He yearned for his city, for familiarity and Elvish architecture and no murderous kings and most of all, for-

"Elrond, we're here!"

Elrond was shaken out of his reverie by the wonderful, glorious sight of Harlindon and, even more gloriously, the sight of King Ereinion Gil-galad and his retainers camped outside.

"Ereinion," Elrond breathed, and they rode more swiftly from then on.

When they _finally_ were close enough that Gil-galad spotted them, the King jumped onto his horse and swiftly galloped towards them, meeting them within minutes.

"Elrond!"

"Ereinion, it's so good to see you!"

Elrond stilled his horse and hopped off, letting Ereinion grasp him by the shoulders after he did the same.

"Oh, Elrond," sighed Gil-galad. "I'm lost without you, completely lost."

Elrond, without thinking about it, smoothed Gil-galad's hair back behind his ear. "You have no idea how I've missed Middle-earth- how I've missed you."

"Your hands," growled the King. "What happened to your _hands_?"

"Númenor's king is even crazier than ours," murmured Elrond. "They're fine now. I'll tell you about it later."

Gil-galad nodded sharply, then, completely oblivious to those around him, he leaned in and kissed Elrond on the mouth. Elrond turned pink, hearing Amandil cheer behind him, but decided to forgo social protocol just this once and wrapped his arms around his long-time lover, surprising them both.

When they finally emerged for air, Elrond found both Elenwë and Amandil clapping and smiling, both very red.

"Welcome back," said Gil-galad cheerfully.

Elrond nodded at Amandil one last time and embraced his King again, deciding that hugs weren't really all that strange.

"It's good to be back."

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